


Down on the Farm

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood Kink, Cannibalism, Childhood Trauma, Dubious Consent, Ephebophilia, Epilepsy, Gaslighting, Guilt, Haunted Houses, M/M, Painplay, Repressed Memories, Serial Killers, Service Dogs, Superstition, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: Tyler is fourteen when his brother slams him to the ground and force feeds him a cow's heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> happy halloween!

Tyler is fourteen when his brother slams him to the ground and force feeds him a cow's heart. They're in their neighbor's barn, with the horses trying to sleep four feet away, and Tyler screams and screams and screams.

"Stop, stop," he pleads, but isn't heard. "I'll do anything—just stop. Stop it, Zack."

The heart is warm. It stinks and smears wetly across Tyler's lips as he fights to keep them shut. Tears stick to his cheeks, and hay pokes at his hair, and Zack's palm is almost flush against his mouth. "Open up," he says, and Tyler shakes, and Zack laughs and pushes, _pushes_ , and Tyler gasps and chokes, and all he can taste is iron. His stomach already churns and protests. Snot runs from his nostrils. Tyler trembles and stares at Zack with wide pink eyes, but Zack doesn't move. His palm is flush against Tyler's mouth now, not moving until Tyler chews and swallows the entirety of the organ.

Tyler coughs. Vomit rises. Zack pinches his nose closed with a bloody index finger and thumb. "Big baby," he says, "this is so you don't taste it."

It's pungent and warm and, mixed with the acid crawling up his esophagus, quite possibly one of the most terrifying experiences of Tyler's life.

"Don't throw it up," Zack says, rubbing his bloody hands together and smiling a manic smile. "I'll make you eat it again."

Tyler doesn't throw it up. He flees from the barn, spooking the horses and the chickens. They squawk and nip at Tyler's ankles, yet Tyler runs and runs. He screams for his mother. She's in the neighbors' kitchen, peeling apples for the annual haunted house and laughing together. "Mama," Tyler squeaks, in the kitchen with hay and horse shit on his clothes and the juices from a heart spread across the lower half of his face. "Mama," he tries again when he doesn't get her attention the first time. "Zack made me eat a cow's heart."

She looks at Tyler, slowly blinks. "A cow's heart?"

The neighbor tuts and continues to peel her apple. "I saw the cow's heart in the freezer not ten minutes ago, boy."

Tyler's mother is sympathetic. "Zack might have nicked it when we weren't looking, then." So, she checks in the freezer, standing on her tiptoes to peer inside. "Oh!" she says, and pulls out the see-through container with "cow's heart" written across it in Sharpie, on a piece of masking tape. Tyler feels sick. "Cow's heart is right here." She shows it to Tyler, even going as far as to get on her knees and work off the lid. "See, Tyler. It's right here. Zack didn't feed you a cow's heart."

"But—" he stutters, and the neighbor cuts in, her jaw dropping and head shaking.

"Kelly, check the basement."

The cow's heart pushes to Tyler. He holds it, fingers shaking the bin. Just like this, the muscle appears to be beating.

At Tyler's mom's reappearance in the kitchen, everything falls silent. Tyler stares at his mom, cow heart to his chest, and the neighbor stops peeling her apple. She and his mother share a look, a look Tyler doesn't know the meaning of at the time, but so desperately wants to know. "What was it, Mama?" he asks. "Mama, if it wasn't a cow's heart, what did Zack feed me?"

"Tyler, honey," she whispers now, back on his level, taking the cow heart and popping on the lid. "Go home and run a bath, you're filthy."

"But, Ma—"

"Tyler, don't backtalk me." She points. Tyler's eyes go cross as he stares at it. "I'll be right behind you, so don't dillydally."

Later that night, after he's dry from the bath, Tyler stands outside the bedroom door and listens to his mom talk to Zack. Her voice is soft, sweet, like she isn't even upset with him.

"Zack, did you mean to make Tyler eat that heart?"

"Yes."

"Zack, you know I'll believe you if you tell me it was an accident."

"It wasn't an accident. I held him down and stuffed it in his mouth."

"Why would you do that?"

The rustle of clothing, Zack shrugs.

"Zack, why did you tell him it was a heart from a cow?"

Another shrug.

"Did you know it wasn't a cow's heart?"

"Yeah."

"Zack," she repeats, "if you tell me it was an accident, I will believe you."

"Cow's heart isn't scary. Neither is a horse's. Or a goat's. He would have eaten it regardless."

Tyler presses his ear to the door. More whispering.

"Are you telling me you knew all along what it was?"

"Sure. Heard you talk with our neighbors about it. Something about for a haunted house, but I stole it and fed it to Tyler."

Tyler scurries to the bathroom and spills his vomit into the toilet. From here, he hears Zack say, "You have to make him eat it again. I told him that: If he throws it up, he has to eat it again."

His mother ruffles Tyler's hair and tells him to rinse out his mouth and go to bed. "I'll clean up," she tells him. He sleeps with his back facing Zack and doesn't open his eyes for the rest of the night.

The next day, they have chili for dinner. Tyler thinks it's suspicious his mom fixed his bowl separately from the rest of the family's, but he digs into it all the same.

*

The next year, Tyler is fifteen and stronger. Jay is with Zack tonight, a bubbly kid with scrapped-up knees and a hyperactive grin. He's bouncing on his feet and talking excitedly about what Zack plans to do to Tyler. "Get him, get him, get him," Jay chants, and doesn't know why.

Zack has a black eye from the previous night, from Tyler cursing him and daring him to try anything. Zack is holding a heart again, warm and disorientating. Tyler imagines it pounding. It is pounding. Tyler bares his teeth. "Fucking dare you," he spits, and Jay gasps, and Zack lunges.

They tumble in the hay, rolling under horses and knocking into the barn cats. Throughout the struggle, Zack is clinging to the heart, ready to smash it into Tyler's mouth, but Tyler is quick, Tyler is unpredictable, and with Zack beneath him, Tyler perches on Zack's hips, rips the heart from his bloody hands, and bites a chunk out of it.

Juices down his chin, the odor of iron and fear plugging up his nose, Tyler devours the heart and chews and swallows. It's tough and tastes exactly as Tyler remembers. On his back, Zack is shaking and trying to shove Tyler off him. "Get the hell off me!" he cries, and Tyler continues eating the heart, allowing the stray blood to drip from his lips and land on his little brother's face.

"You're crazy," Zack says.

"You know that's not a cow's heart, right?" Zack says.

"You're a fucking freak," Zack says.

"That's a human heart," Zack says.

Jay is crying and running, and Tyler is finishing the last of the heart. He ignores Zack, instead pins him down with a hand to his chest. He says nothing, only allows the other hand to inch toward his mouth, two bloody fingers wiggling and stroking the inside of his throat. It tastes as bad coming up as it does going down. Convulsing on top of Zack, Tyler's shoulders heave, and he pinches Zack's nose closed as two waves of semi-digested heart and acid hit Zack's chest, neck, and chin. "Big baby," Tyler groans, "this is so you don't taste it." And he pinches Zack's nostrils together harder, twisting his wrist at the end.

Zack kicks and bucks his hips, and Tyler gags and wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. "No, wait," he says, and lets go of Zack's nose. Zack's kicks are more forceful now, but Tyler is the big brother, and he shifts all his weight to push Zack down, down, _down_ into the hay and horse shit. "You said I need to eat it again if I throw it up." Tyler laughs, and Zack begins to cry, too. He doesn't fight, just lays there, eyes on the roof of the barn as Tyler laps up the blood and bile and broken-down heart from him.

He isn't totally clean, but Tyler gets the job done. "Happy fucking Halloween," he hisses, and is pulled backwards by hands under his armpits.

"Tyler!" his father is saying, shaking Tyler and spinning Tyler and scolding Tyler. "Stop it! What are you doing?"

No matter what Tyler tells them, they believe Zack. They will always believe Zack.

Tyler is sent to his room. Zack sleeps with their parents that night. Jay and Maddy avoid him.

"What a hellish son you have," the neighbors murmur to his mom. They're all peeling apples again, planning to mash them for the haunted house. "What a monster."

Tyler is a monster.

*

Zack doesn't torment Tyler in the barn when he's sixteen. Tyler loses his virginity when he's sixteen, taken from him by the neighbor. Clark—Tyler remembers his name as he hands Tyler a knife. "Has your daddy shown you how to do this, boy?" he asks, tilting his head. The knife is rusty near the handle. Tyler squeezes and thinks of all the things he could do with it.

The basement is cold. Stainless steel tables cut into Tyler's palms. Slabs of meat pool in blood, kept in bowls too small to hold them. Pink, green, the meat is raw, and they smell as if they are rotting. Flies buzz. Their wings are almost frozen solid. The basement is cold, and Tyler lets Clark cup his elbow and bring the knife to his throat. "I can teach you a lot of things your daddy can't."

Tyler applies pressure. It's easy. Blood beads, rolls. "Thought you wanted me to cut meat," he whispers. "Told your wife you wanted my help cutting meat for the haunted house."

"You are cutting meat," Clark says, and Tyler drags the knife down the length of his neck. It's slow and calculated. This is not the first time he has been down in the basement with Clark. He stood and watched Clark dig his knife into the tender meat, pulling it apart to peek at the yellow fat. Tyler's stomach growled, and Clark laughed.

"Someday, boy, I'll let you sample my meat."

Tyler samples it today. He's on his knees, a cock down his throat and a bloody fist holding his hair. Tyler's grip on the knife is tight, not wanting to let go. The dirty blade grounds him, tells him everything is going to be okay. Clark grunts and groans, and Tyler bleeds all over the basement floor. Old stains litter the concrete. They are brown. Tyler watches his blood meet them. It's beautiful.

Tyler bleeds from his neck, shoulder, and chest. Superficial cuts made with a sharpened kiss, Tyler slashes into his skin while Clark slides his jeans down to his thighs. Each cut is a pinch, and the blood crawling out from within is a relief. Coddling Tyler, the blood is a comfort. He's still here. He's still here.

Clark holds him down, a hand on his back, as they fuck into the stainless steel table. Tyler is cold, shivering, and he dumps his hands into the bowls of meat on display, already cut, already cut—oh, God, Clark didn't need help cutting meat. Fingers curling, squeezing, blood and juice run down Tyler's wrists. It smells awful, like death, like rot, Tyler's rotting, and Tyler leans forward and eats it, the raw meat, and it tastes as awful as it smells. Clark is encouraging him, laughing, and Tyler spreads blood and more blood over his mouth, his cheeks, his chest, and lower as he grabs his cock and gives several tugs. Like sunscreen, like body lotion, like Goddamn moisturizer, Tyler's skin sucks it up and becomes one with it. He is at peace. Tyler is rejuvenated. Tyler is pure.

Clark scoops Tyler's semen into his palm and drizzles it over the half-eaten meat. Tyler watches. He shuts his eyes. His stomach growls.

Upstairs, he can hear his parents laughing. Clark pats Tyler's thigh. "Come back tomorrow, and I'll let you taste my meat again."

Clark laughs. "Gonna turn you into Daddy's little cannibal."

*

At age seventeen, Tyler creeps into the neighbors' basement. He sits in front of the freezer and listens to it hum. Everybody is in the kitchen upstairs, even the little toddlers. They've only started to walk, and the little boy takes to following Tyler at every opportunity. He's standing at the top of the basement steps, fingers curled around a bundle of grapes. "Go away," Tyler says, but the kid is climbing down, one hand with the grapes and the other clutching the stair rails. "Go away, go away," Tyler keeps saying, but the kid keeps climbing down.

He sits next to Tyler and holds out the grapes, already skinned to be used as eyeballs for the haunted house. Tyler takes them, warms them in his hands. "Do you know if they keep the hearts in here?" he asks, and gestures toward the freezer with a twitch of his head.

The little boy nods.

"Get one for me."

The little boy does. It's cold, so Tyler rolls it in his hands, giving the grapes back to the kid. They're bloody now, but it doesn't stop the kid from sucking on them.

"Did your mommy get this one, or your daddy?"

Puckered lips, disappearing completely, the kid looks like he might say "papa". Tyler tears into the heart, teeth disagreeing with the chilled makeshift meat. "I bet your parents bottle feed you blood. Bet you suck your mom's tits and wish you had all your teeth to make her bleed."

The little boy blinks.

"Your daddy fucked me down here over a hundred times. Said I looked pretty with blood on my lips." Tyler takes another bite.

The little boy swallows the grape in his mouth whole.

Tyler watches him choke while finishing the heart. With two fists, he pounds into the kid's back and marvels at how the blue skin returns to white.

No one checks on the kid, and no one checks on Tyler. Halfway across the room, the skinned grape lies in a small puddle of saliva. Bloody palms, Tyler picks it up and grinds it into a pulp. Dust and hair mold to it. "If you throw it up," he says, "you have to eat it again."

He feeds it to the toddler in tiny portions, even the hair. The kid smiles, thin lips covered in blood. Tyler decides he wants to kill Zack tonight.

They're in the barn, Zack close behind. Tyler is up on the rafters, climbed up once he heard Zack's footsteps leaving the neighbors' house. Teeth pink, nails crusty, Tyler stares at Zack and the absence of a heart.

"Fuck you," Zack says.

Tyler jumps on hay bales. "Get on a horse."

They ride two thoroughbreds into the field behind the barn. The wind licks Tyler's cheeks, caresses them. Zack is trying to talk to him, but Tyler is ahead, far ahead, leaping from his horse and vanishing in the corn maze. Dirt clings to his sweat jacket, coats his shoes, and comes up in a cloud when he starts to run. Zack is still calling for Tyler, telling him to stop, pleading for him to stop.

"Tyler, I'm going to tell Dad."

Zack is sitting on the ground beside his horse, shivering and curled into a ball.

"Tyler, I'm going to tell Mom."

Tyler stands over Zack, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. "I'm going to kill you," Tyler whispers.

"Shut up," Zack says.

"I'm going to kill you," Tyler repeats, louder now.

"Ty, stop, you're scaring me."

"I'm going to _ruin you_ ," he screeches, and Zack's arms loop around his knees, taking him to the soil. They roll and wrestle and bring down corn stalks. An ear of the vegetable pokes at Tyler's back, and it squashes when Zack sits on his chest.

"What's your problem?" Zack asks, breath leaving in ragged stuttering. It's cold, and fog is beginning to form.

Fog is beginning to form, but Tyler takes hold of Zack's arm and yanks him forward, forward, forward until he's biting Zack's cheek and tugging and shaking and peeling the flesh from Zack's bones.

Around this time, flashlight beams scan the area. A horse whinnies, and Zack shouts for the Lord Above to listen, to help, and Tyler laughs. A horse whinnies, and Tyler laughs with Zack's cheek in his mouth, Zack's skin in his mouth, Zack's blood in his mouth.

"Stop," Zack is screaming. "Stop laughing."

Zack stumbles, and Tyler stands, and Zack yells. He yells, and flashlight beams are in their eyes. Tyler is blind. Zack is bleeding to death, running, knocking into his horse, and Tyler follows, still laughing, still laughing. Zack falls into his horse, and Tyler looms over him, and the horse whinnies and kicks.

Tyler stops laughing.

*

Tyler doesn't remember being eighteen.

*

Or nineteen.

*

When he's twenty, he has a service dog named Beethoven. He cries every day and wears a bracelet made of coral on his left wrist.

Zack's cheek has an ugly scar, and Jay and Maddy stay close if they're in the same room as Tyler. Tyler doesn't know why they keep staring at him.

Their neighbors aren't scared of Tyler. They let him and Beethoven on their farm, let them run around and feed the chickens and goats and groom the horses. Tyler plays with their children, twins with beautiful brown eyes, and helps them when they get boo-boos. He kisses bandages and gets blood on his lips. Beethoven huffs, and the kids' father tries not to look at Tyler for too long, not while his wife is in the next room, peeling fruit for the haunted house.

Tyler's head hurts closer to this time of the year. He thinks something happened. He doesn't remember what.

*

Set in a warehouse owned by a handful of the bank's wealthiest patrons, the annual haunted house is said to be one of the scariest in Ohio. Along with Tyler's family, the next-door neighbors pitch in to help decorate. Usually tasked with preparing the food to confuse and disgust the visitors, Tyler's family also repairs the costumes and props that happened to break the previous year and along the way this year. Tyler stabs his fingers with sewing needles and doesn't look at Zack. Zack looks at him, but Tyler doesn't do it in return. He knows it's not polite to stare, no matter how hideous the scar on his face. No one will tell Tyler how Zack got it; it's not in any baby pictures. Then again, Tyler never bothered to ask.

Beethoven is next to Tyler. Head on his paws, tail absently wagging, he dozes—a sight that calms Tyler and brings a smile to his face and tears to his eyes. Zack rolls his dry eyes and shakes his head. "Are you seriously crying?" he whispers, their parents in the kitchen, peeling potatoes to mash and dye. "Do you ever stop crying?"

"It's good to cry," Tyler remarks, and threads his needle through the ratty black fabric. A robe, a cape, generic and dirty, it's essential for a haunted house.

"Not as much as you." Zack snorts.

Tyler smiles and pets Beethoven behind the ears. His paws twitch.

"Finished?" Their mom pokes her head around the corner. Her hands are stained red. "They open in an hour."

"Yes," Tyler and Zack say, and their mother returns to the kitchen.

"Are you going through it tonight?" Zack raises an eyebrow.

"I might." Tyler sticks the needle and thread into the sewing box. "Haven't gone through it yet this year." He neglects to mention how he hasn't been in it at all, and if he has, he doesn't remember. Zack doesn't mention this either.

Zack unplugs the hot glue gun, the bent stem back on an old pumpkin with circles for eyes and typically something white for the guts. The neighbors say they fill it with mashed potatoes and dare people to sink their fingers inside. Zack says it's runny, though, and probably isn't mashed potatoes. "What is it, then?" Jay had asked, and Zack only shook his head and said he'll explain later.

"I could drive you," Zack offers, with a shrug. "My friends and I were gonna meet up there and hang out after anyway."

Tyler runs his palms along the tattered costume. "So, I would need to find a ride home."

"You got Beethoven."

At his name, Beethoven's head leaves his big paws to flare his nostrils and narrow his tired eyes. Tyler rubs behind his ears again. "I guess you're right." Beethoven yawns.

In two cars, Tyler and Zack in one and mother, father, Jay, and Maddy in the other, they drive to the warehouse. It's dark and chilly, and Tyler sits in the backseat with Beethoven, arms around his thick neck and hiding in his thick fur. Since there's more room in Zack's car, even with the addition of a rather large Saint Bernard puppy, Tyler is accompanied by recently repaired decorations and costumes and various food items. He sees skinned grapes, dyed and undyed mashed potatoes, links of raw sausage and other raw slabs of meat, something red to mimic blood, something yellow to mimic piss, and many animal hearts. Each heart is carefully labeled, except for the three that are not. Tyler figures they're also cow, as they're kept in the same tote. Despite Tyler hugging him, Beethoven is visibly uncomfortable. He doesn't take his eyes off the food. Tyler figures it's because he's hungry and digs inside his pocket to retrieve a dog treat. Beethoven eats it. Tyler kisses his muzzle.

As soon as they park behind the warehouse, the Joseph family scatters. "Running late," his mom says, but Tyler knows crowds form for events hours in advance. They aren't late. Tyler pretends to believe they are. Beethoven stands next to him, his head leaned into Tyler's hip. When Tyler first got the pup, he was energetic and couldn't bear to be kept in a single spot for longer than a few minutes. Aging a bit, and finding out Tyler's personality, Beethoven mellowed. It's not that Tyler doesn't want to skip and jump and explore to his heart's desire; his mom advised him not to do so. "Bad for your health," she told him. "You threw up just last night, dear. You shouldn't overwork yourself. Something terrible might happen. And what if Beethoven isn't there for you? What if no one is there for you? Stay in bed. You're safe here. Now, come on, eat your chili. It's getting cold."

Tyler winds Beethoven's leash over and over his fist. It cuts off circulation, numbs his hand. The action is absent and subconsciously done. He walks around the front of the warehouse, shoes scuffing gravel, and gazes on the long line waiting eagerly. Zack and his friends are near the front, sharing stories about past experiences. Neither Zack nor Tyler make and maintain eye contact. Tyler stands in the back of the line and unwraps his hand. He curls his fingers and wonders how Beethoven will handle the haunted house.

Along with the title as scariest haunted house, it is also the longest. The line moves sluggishly. Fifteen minutes pass, and Tyler moves five inches, and a horde of fifty or so more teenagers and young adults arrive to have the scare of their life. Alternating between rocking back and forth from the balls and heels of his feet and checking his phone, the boy behind Tyler looks bored and like he came alone. Maybe he's waiting for his friends—that's why he's on his phone; probably checking text messages and social media, he must be expecting friends to show up at last minute. If it's a large group, they'll be pushed to the end of the line. If there's one or two, it'll be allowed.

For now, at least, the boy is by himself and definitely not doing a good job at meeting Beethoven's eyes. Beethoven is looking at him from the get-go, ears perked and his gaze wide and alert. His tail even wags in anticipation. Noticing the boy's twitching fingers being stuffed into a kangaroo pocket, Tyler turns toward the boy and says, "You can pet him," to which the boy sighs and utters, "Thank God," before he's on his knees and giving Beethoven the tummy rub to end all tummy rubs.

This far from the haunted house, grass is under their feet. Closer to the entrance, it's gravel. Beethoven is enjoying the cool grass on his back as he twists and turns and lightly _boof_ s at the boy and his magic hands. Dressed warmly in a hoodie, beanie, leather jacket, and patched-up skinny jeans, the boy squints and smiles at Tyler. "Sorry," he says. "Big dog, lotta fur, I couldn't help myself." He stops, hand completely gulped by Beethoven's fur, and adds, "What's your name?"

"Tyler," Tyler says, and nods toward Beethoven. "Beethoven."

"Josh." Josh shakes hands with Tyler and does the same with Beethoven. Beethoven doesn't appreciate it as much.

Tyler's hand is numb from where Beethoven's leash digs into it. Looping and looping, Tyler does it faster now. His heart is racing. He needs, he needs, he needs—

Beethoven notices the shift and leaps to his feet, startling Josh. Wet nose to his hip, Tyler places a shaking hand to Beethoven's head. Josh watches. Josh frowns. "Are you okay?"

Tyler cries. "Yes."

"Dude, you're crying."

"I do that." Tyler tugs on the sleeves of his sweatshirt and wipes his eyes. "I'm okay."

To say the air between them is awkward would be… a lie. It isn't awkward. Josh somehow understood and somehow believed him. Beethoven's presence must be the reason as to why. He isn't sitting down, not even looking anywhere else. His sad black eyes are trained on Tyler, and nothing Tyler can do will change that.

Josh tries conversation. "Have you been through this?"

Tyler tells the truth. "I don't know."

"Heard it's scary. My friends talked me into coming with them, and they chickened out."

"Shit friends," Tyler says, and covers his mouth.

Josh laughs. "Yeah, you're right. Are you by yourself, then? Did your friends ditch you, too?"

Tyler rubs the tip of Beethoven's ear. "I have Beethoven." Lame. "My family helps out with it, though. So… I'unno."

Their feet touch gravel. "Yeah," Josh mumbles.

A few teenagers near the front are pale and flee when it's their turn to enter. Josh chuckles a little and plays with the zipper on his jacket. Tyler smiles.

He and Josh are next in line quicker than expected. More people run, make excuses, say they've waited too long and need to be somewhere early tomorrow. Today is Friday.

At the front of the line, the girl taking the twenty-dollar entry fee holds out her hand for both the money and Beethoven's leash. "He has to wait outside."

"I need him. I have—"

"Step outta line, then. He can't go in; you can't go in."

Before the tears in Tyler's eyes reach fruition, Josh says, "I'll be with you. You can hold my hand and squeeze it three times if you need out."

Beethoven whimpers. Tyler kisses his head, passes over his leash, and takes Josh's hand. "Stay," Tyler says, and Beethoven stays. After they pay, they're escorted inside. The thick black curtain drops behind them. It's quiet and muggy, and Josh is the one to squeeze a hand first.

"Some goes for you," Tyler says. "Three squeezes."

"Got it," Josh says.

They walk, Tyler leading, Josh close behind. Chest to back, Tyler furrows his brow and muses, "I probably shouldn't be in here if there are flashing lights."

" _What?_ " Outrage and shock is Josh's tone. "We have to turn back no— _holy shit_." Josh squeezes and spins them around. He's tugging Tyler now because he says something touched him, something whispered, " _I'm gonna rape you_ ," in his ear, and Josh is trembling, running down dark hallways with Tyler fighting to stay upright.

The first room has the pumpkin Zack fixed earlier. Its innards are spilling from its circle eyes and buck-toothed grin. White and gooey, Josh groans, "Oh, _God_ , is that _come_?"

And they're running again, a chainsaw somewhere in the distance. The floor is sticky and slippery, and Josh and Tyler are holding hands with two hands. Josh is still leading, and it's better this way because he's shorter than Tyler, and Tyler's hands are holding onto Josh's hands, and Tyler's arms are around Josh's waist, back to chest, and there's screaming from a child tied to the ceiling, from a woman with her head missing, from a man chewing on a heart.

Tyler whines.

Josh hears, and Josh says, "It's okay."

It smells like blood. It smells like the neighbors' basement.

"I want to die!" a boy screeches at the top of his lungs. He's beaten and bruised and strung across the spine of a malnutritioned horse. "Stop laughing, stop laughing, _stop laughing_." It's Zack. It has to be Zack. Zack is screaming and bleeding, and there's something on his cheek—what's on his cheek? _What's wrong with his cheek?_

"Tyler?"

" _Run_."

Racing past rooms with patients strapped to gurneys and twins and too many gunshot suicide victims, Tyler and Josh never let go. The hallway goes on forever. There is no end. When they think it's over, the curtain drops behind them, and they're pushed headfirst into ghastly green walls and yucky yellow floors. Supposed to be a restaurant-style kitchen, Tyler recognizes the neighbors cooking on the stove. No make believe, they're laughing and eating the meat, sharing portions and smearing the blood over their chins. "Right there," the wife croons, her husband burying two fingers in her cunt. "Fuck me like that. Show me all the stuff my daddy can't show me."

"That was fucked up," Josh says. "Were they cooking chicken?"

Tyler's head hurts.

In the final room, it's unnerving. Silent, all the lights flipped on, Josh and Tyler take careful steps forward, still clinging to each other. Black tarps for walls to match the interior of the rest of the haunted house, it's to trick the visitors into thinking it isn't over—but it truly is over. The empty room is meant to be a subtle transition to the real world, yet it's more nerve-wracking than anything.

Tyler can't stop shaking.

First thing Tyler does once they're outside in the cold—and now, rain—is call for Beethoven. His voice is weak, cracking at the end, but the puppy hears and gallops around the warehouse. Leash dragging in the mud, Tyler grabs it, and then hugs him tight around the neck. He doesn't have to get on his knees; Beethoven stands on his hind legs and covers Tyler in kisses. He cries.

Eyes shut, Josh is counting his breaths.

Neither of them should have gone inside the haunted house. Forty bucks wasted, unable to calm themselves, Tyler doesn't want to go home tonight.

"Hey," he says to Josh. "D'ya want to take a walk?"

"Yes." Josh nods—once, three times. "Or we can drive around. My car's big enough for, for, for him."

They settle on driving. With the heat on and Tyler pulling out two more dog treats from his pocket, Beethoven is at ease enough to let Tyler sit in the passenger seat undisturbed by stray fur and slobbers.

Josh's window is cracked. He smokes a cigarette, pulling smoke from his lungs and pushing it into the rain. "Tell me about yourself," he says, flicking ashes. "Tell me something, _anything_."

Tyler's mind blanks. "My name is Tyler Joseph, it is eleven minutes past midnight on a Saturday, and I don't want to go home tonight."

"Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"

Another blank. Tyler reaches for the cigarette. "I don't know." He puffs and blows. "Would you be into that, if I told you what you think I told you?"

No hesitation. "Yes."

Tyler smiles.

Josh lives on the second floor. Decorated with an old skeleton door cling, Josh laughs as he sees it, pointing as he does so, and offers no other explanation. Beethoven sniffs.

The man behind the front desk gave them a look, but didn't deny Tyler nor Beethoven access to the upper levels. The building is small and seems like it wouldn't be allowed to sustain larger animals, like a Saint Bernard. Beethoven is wearing a harness and, hidden beneath all his fur, a collar with the words "service dog". Tyler would think it'd be common sense for someone to assume any dog seen in public places would be a service dog, please don't touch. Little kids are the worst—grabby hands and sticky fingers. Teenagers are close behind, though, taking out their phones and snapping pictures of Beethoven to send to their friends. Tyler tends to snivel when this happens, and he sees the teenagers quickly type away on their phones, hopefully feeling guilty, but probably also letting their friends know "the guy with the dog just started crying".

Josh treated Tyler and Beethoven with respect. Yes, he was antsy, but he touched only when Tyler gave him express permission—like now.

Pinned with his back to the front door, chin upturned to the ceiling, Tyler whispers, "Yes, yes, yes," over and over, Josh's hands on his waist, on his hips, shoving away his sweatshirt and getting down on his knees to kiss at exposed flesh. Tyler twists and pivots, and Josh holds him, pins him, and remarks, "You want it rough, yeah?" to Tyler's nod and "yes, yes, yes".

Josh lifts him, palms kneading at his ass. Tyler drops Beethoven's leash, tells him to stay, to sit and be a good dog, but Beethoven whimpers at Tyler's whimpering. He stays, though. He sits and stays and is a good dog, watching with his big eyes at Josh dumping Tyler on the kitchen table the next room over.

The wood is unforgiving. Tyler hits it with his elbows and sends numbness throughout his arms. Josh says, "Oops," with as much sympathy as he can with a hard cock in his jeans. "M'sorry. Could have hurt your head."

"Yeah." Tyler pushes himself up, sitting on the edge, legs swinging. "You didn't. It's okay."

Josh leans in, gently pressing his mouth to Tyler's. A first kiss, it forces shivers to rake through Tyler's body. Kicking off his shoes and wrapping legs around Josh's waist, Tyler pulls Josh close. Josh's cock bumps between Tyler's legs, and Tyler grinds, hips twitching and hinting at far more experience than he lets on. It drives Josh wild, and he's—delicately—pushing Tyler onto his back again, ripping off clothes, touching soft skin, hairy skin, skin that has never been seen by a lover. "Be careful with me," Tyler advises, flipped over to lie on his stomach.

"First time?" Josh asks, naked and a condom in his teeth.

"Think so," Tyler breathes, cold fingers against his hole.

Josh is quiet. He works a finger inside Tyler, two fingers. Josh spits on Tyler's hole and licks at Tyler's hole. Tyler whines, and Beethoven whines. Everything is okay.

"Ready?"

"Fuck me," Tyler says, ragged and tortured. "Wanna be fucked so hard."

Josh doesn't disappoint. After rolling on the condom and coating his cock with lubricant, he edges forward and fucks Tyler. Tyler wants it rough. He wants it bad. He wants it _now_. Josh insists on waiting until Tyler's body adjusts, but Tyler begins to rock, and as much as the sight of Tyler fucking himself on Josh's cock is enjoyable, Josh is in control, and he holds Tyler down by the small of his back and thrusts into him at such a force that causes the kitchen table to rattle and bang into the wall.

Tyler feels cold. He shivers and runs his fingers over his ears, down to his throat. Josh's hands are tight on his hips, nails digging in, and it feels so good. Tyler can't open his eyes. "So good, so good," he hisses, and Josh flips him again. They're facing each other, Tyler leaning on his palms with a leg tossed over Josh's shoulder. "Oh, like this," Tyler says, nodding his head. Josh slowly slides into Tyler, still bit of a stretch. They started too early. Tyler wasn't ready. He isn't ready. He's ready. His lips pop open, and drool drips from his lips. "So fucking good, Josh." Tyler's fingers flitter to his mouth and drench themselves in the saliva. "Fucking me so good."

His mind going a mile a second, it spins and hurts, and Tyler ignores it. Josh has picked up speed, hands still on Tyler's waist, holding him up, holding him down, and Tyler lolls his head on his shoulders and lets his fingers dance along his neck, his chest, scratching and peeling and tearing. When the skin breaks, blood emerges, and although it's only a small amount, it ignites something in Tyler. He falls onto his elbow and grabs his cock, stroking it with pre-come and tiny specks of blood staining the tips of his fingers. He needs this, he needs all of this. If Josh notices the blood, he doesn't say. He's leaning in, face in Tyler's neck as he licks and kisses and breathes and breathes. "Almost there," he grunts, and Tyler whines, long and drawn out, and squirms and arches. Josh might not hear him; Tyler doesn't even know what he's saying, why he's saying it. "Right there," he's saying, "right there, right there, fuck me like my daddy can't. Make me Daddy's little cannibal." He can smell blood.

Like the oxygen is squeezed from his body, Tyler becomes limp at his orgasm. Josh fills the condom all the same, pulls out all the same, and throws away the condom all the same. "That was… that, uh—"

Tyler is weak, but the slap his hand delivers to Josh's cheek is powerful, and takes both of them by surprise. Neither makes a sound. Josh stands with his palms on each side of Tyler's body, shoulders hunched, and head bent low. Neither makes a sound. Neither makes a sound. In the living room, Beethoven yawns.

"Sorry," Josh says. "I… I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry for whatever it was."

One by one, Tyler watches his fingers curl into his palm. It's red and angry. "I guess I thought you were someone else."

"What? Your _daddy_?"

Tyler closes his eyes.

"Because, like, okay—that was weird. I, I don't—Tyler, if you're into that—"

"I'm not," Tyler squeaks. "I'm _not_."

"Okay, whatever." Josh steps backward, shows his hands. "We forget that. Yeah? But you—fuck—why— _how_ would I make you a cannibal?"

Tyler wants to hit Josh again. He doesn't. Josh's cheek is as red as his palm, and it looks as ugly as Zack's scar.

"What?" Josh sticks his fingers in his hair. "Tyler, you're bleeding."

"Take me home." Tyler gets off the table, shaking, trembling. "I can't, I can't— _Beethoven_!"

Beethoven is here and licking at Tyler's face. Tyler hugs him, crying into the space between his shoulders. All is well.

Josh says, "You're not going home. It's late. You can sleep on the couch."

Tyler says, "Okay."

Josh says, "What do you prefer: bath or shower?"

Tyler says, "Shower," and Josh grabs his clothing, pulls on his hoodie and boxers, and leaves to get the bathroom ready for Tyler.

The blood on his chest dries brown. It looks familiar.

*

Curled on the couch, keeping to himself in the corner, a rather large puppy on top of him, Tyler's hair is still damp from his shower. The water ran over his body and washed away the blood. Tyler felt sad. He didn't know why.

Josh pounded on the door after an hour. "Tyler, are you okay?"

Tyler got out, no eye contact, and made his way into the living room. Beethoven hovered by his heels, had waited at the door for the entirety of the hour. "Didn't mean to stay in there that long," he said, trying to make sense of Josh's clothes on his body.

"It's okay," Josh said, and he says it now. "It's okay." He's in the kitchen. A pot of noodles rests on the stove. It's nearly four in the morning.

Josh sits on a chair and lets Tyler and Beethoven have the couch. "Eat something," he says, and Tyler cradles the bowl of buttered noodles, slurping. Beethoven tucks his head into Tyler's side.

"What's that bracelet on your wrist?" Josh points with his fork. He's eating most of the noodles, not wanting to force Tyler to eat more than desired. "Noticed you didn't take it off when we…"

"It's coral," Tyler says. "I heard it might help. My therapist wasn't doing a good job of it."

Tyler sat in her office once a month, Beethoven forced to stay with his parents in the waiting room. He sat on her couch and cried at every touch to his arm, every blink, and every smile. "You're doing so well, Tyler," she said, and rubbed his arm in an attempt to be soothing. "Now, tell me, have you had any more strange dreams?"

He wished he never opened his mouth.

He opens his mouth. "All she wanted to know was my dreams. 'Who was in it this time? What were they doing?'" Tyler twirls his fork in the noodles. They remind him of worms. "'Were you naked? Were _they_ naked? Your mother tells me you don't wear shorts or t-shirts in the summer. She says you didn't swim with your siblings. She says you stay inside and sit in your room. That's bad,' she told me every session, but never did a fucking thing to help me. 'Talk about your dreams,' she said to me. 'We can start there.'"

Josh stares at Tyler. "You don't just have him for epilepsy, do you?"

Beethoven growls in his sleep. Tyler shrugs. "I don't know."

*

Tyler doesn't sleep. Josh doesn't either. They lounge and watch the ceiling. When it turns to morning, they rouse and agree on coffee before Tyler goes home.

"Are your parents worried?"

Tyler checks his phone. "No." He slides it in his pocket. "I got Beethoven."

Before coffee, they stop at a dollar store and buy bones for Beethoven. Josh goes in to let Tyler stay in the car. No one's ever let him do that. His parents, his siblings, they made him go inside with them. "No cowering," they called it, but Tyler wasn't cowering. He thought it was a hassle letting Beethoven in and out of the car every ten minutes. There's nothing wrong with that.

There's nothing wrong with him.

Still wearing Josh's clothes, Tyler sits at a table with Beethoven underneath. Josh sips at his coffee and rubs his eyes. "We don't have to talk about last night."

"I thought we were ignoring it in the first place."

"Tyler, I—" Josh shakes his head. "We just met. You don't gotta tell me anything you're not ready to disclose, but last night was fucking terrifying. I think that haunted house really screwed with our heads. That's why you said those things. You… got influenced."

It sounds logical coming from Josh's mouth. "I guess so."

Beethoven chews on his bone.

"Let's go again tonight," Tyler says.

Josh blinks. "What?"

"I'll pay for it." Tyler takes a drink.

It doesn't take much convincing after that. "Okay, sure. So, what, pick you up around eight?"

"Around eight."

*

In front of Tyler's house, they exchange phone numbers, and Tyler sends Josh his address, just in case he doesn't remember it for later. "See you," Josh says, and leans in to awkwardly kiss the space between Tyler's eyebrows. Tyler's heart races when he stares at Josh, when he kisses Josh. Josh's hair is red underneath his beanie.

His mom is next door with the neighbors. Tyler sees her through the window. Beethoven trotting beside him, Tyler goes through the back door. With how close knit their families are, each have taken to not lock their back doors.

"Tyler!" Hands cradling hard-boiled eggs the color of chartreuse, she smiles at Tyler. "Where've you been? I was starting to worry."

There are plates of food on the counters and in the fridge. She didn't worry for long.

"Out with a friend," he says, wringing Beethoven's leash around his fist. "I'm gonna be with him again tonight."

"Oh, Tyler," his mom says, not paying a bit of attention, "be a dear and help Clark in the basement. The twins are down there, but you know they're not helping their daddy."

Beethoven tenses at the sight of the basement door, and frankly, Tyler does, too. He tugs on Beethoven's leash and rubs the coral on his wrist. "I won't be afraid," he mumbles, opening the door. "I won't be afraid."

Along with the neighbors' children, Zack, Maddy, and Jay occupy the small space. Cobwebs frequent the corners and covers Tyler on the way down. He's tall and neglects to bow his head. On the floor, Maddy plays patty cake with the twin girl, while the boy, once he sees Tyler, totters over and holds out his arms. "Up?" Tyler asks, and, after seeing the less-than-toothy grin, picks him off the ground. His feet are dirty. Tyler does his best to shoo away the debris.

"Hey." Jay waves, standing next to Zack and Clark at one of the stainless steel tables. Meat is in front of them—always meat, why is it always meat? "Clark wanted us to try to guess what each was."

Zack is uncomfortable. He shifts his weight to his other leg. "Maybe Tyler shouldn't."

"Nonsense," Clark says, gray stubble on his cheeks and missing a few more bottom teeth than last year. "Tyler is the best when it comes to sampling my meat."

Jay doesn't know. Maddy is oblivious. Zack shakes his head and chews on the inside of his cheek, the cheek with the ugly scar. "Maybe he—"

"Tyler, put down my kid and come here."

Tyler does. Beethoven follows, still tense, still on alert.

"Zack is good at this." Clark presses the blade of his knife into the meat, obviously chicken. "When he was younger, he always could tell the difference."

Zack lightly shakes his head. Jay doesn't notice. Tyler does. He stares at Zack and the ugly scar.

"Couldn't you, Zack?"

Zack says nothing.

Clark goes on, "Tyler tried them all, but he liked one specific type more than the rest." His knife slides and slides, deeper, never stopping. "Do you remember what you liked the best?"

Tyler watches blood ooze from the center.

Zack shakes his head more forcefully now. "Clark—"

Clark gestures with his knife. "Come closer, Tyler. You can cut your own slice. Your daddy showed you how to cut meat, didn't he?"

"Tyler," Zack tries, "I think I heard mom calling for you."

Jay frowns. From the floor, Maddy calls for the twin boy to get away from the stairs.

"No, she didn't, boy. I have ears like a bat, and the only thing I heard was Tyler taking a step over here." It's a cue. Clark scans him, up and down, and Tyler is weak. He's going to throw up.

"Tyler, go upstairs," Zack says.

Everything happens in a single moment: Clark raises his knife to Zack, Jay turns his head, Zack blinks, Tyler vomits, Maddy cries, the little girl laughs, the little boy steps on a nail, and Beethoven barks.

Another: Clark stabs his knife into the meat, Jay jumps, Zack stares at Tyler, Tyler falls, Maddy screams, the little girl laughs, the little boy laughs, and Beethoven barks.

Tyler sees the rusty nail sticking an inch from the boy's foot as Clark sweeps him from the ground, laughing, they're all laughing, and Tyler can only think of how he shouldn't have set the kid down, how he shouldn't have let go, how he shouldn't have gone downstairs.

Before he sees black, Tyler hears Zack yell, "Stop laughing," the boy squeal, "Go'a ea' it," and Beethoven howl.

*

His mom shoves chili down his throat before he can fully open his eyes.

"Going out tonight, aren't you?" she says.

"Have to keep your strength up," she says.

"Clark put some of his meat in here," she says.

"Mystery meat, he calls it," she says.

"I wish I could fix it like he does," she says.

*

True to his word, Josh picks up Tyler around eight. The inside of his car is heated, the soundtrack to _The_ _Nightmare Before Christmas_ plays, and a cigarette burns between his fingers. "You look terrible," he says, and gropes for a plastic bag in the back. He hands it to Tyler. "Since you said it helps."

Bundles of coral greet him. Tyler smiles at the sentiment. "Need to check this at your place after, see if it's the real deal."

"So, you're coming home with me?" Josh doesn't try to hide his delight. He passes Tyler the cigarette next.

"Will you have me?"

Josh smiles. "How do you check if it's the real deal? I hope it's all real. Bought it at a corner store run by a self-declared witch."

A flick of ash, Tyler says, "Milk," and Josh laughs and repeats, "Milk."

The line is longer tonight. Instead of behind, Josh is beside Tyler, a hand on the small of his back, his waist, rubbing. "I like seeing you in my clothes." Josh turns somber. "You haven't slept, have you?"

"Have you?"

"Napped for a bit." Josh grinds the toe of his shoe into the grass. "I asked you first."

This is their second day together, maybe even their second date, if they want to call it that. Josh knows about Beethoven, but at the same time, Josh doesn't know. He doesn't know a lot of things—and neither does Tyler. It doesn't matter. This doesn't matter.

"I blacked out."

Josh's fingers drift up Tyler's hoodie. Cold fingers, warm back, both shiver. "What do you mean you 'blacked out'?"

Beethoven bumps his head into Tyler's hip. Tyler rubs him behind the ears. "I was at my neighbors' house, and…" And, and, and—Tyler shakes, head and body. "I can't talk about this right now, Josh, please don't make me."

"Are you okay, though?" Josh's eyes are soft and brown. "We can go to my place. Don't have to do this."

"I want to." Tyler presses his cheek to Josh's shoulder. "I'll tell you later."

Beethoven seems to understand what's going to happen at the black-curtain entrance of the haunted house. He lets the girl guide him from Tyler—only after Tyler pulls a dog treat from his pocket and places it in Beethoven's mouth. Josh smiles and takes Tyler's hand. "Squeeze three times," he says, and Tyler says, "I will."

Hotter than yesterday, it's hard to breathe. Other than the temperature change, nothing seems different. Jump scares they anticipate and men in masks following them and touching them, they don't run, they don't scream, and that only makes the workers agitated. They show up more often to spit and curse in their faces, but Tyler is leading the way, and he stands proud and walks without too much flinching.

In a better state of mind now than last night, Tyler sees the man on the horse isn't Zack. It isn't even a man at all. It's a mannequin, hard plastic shell broken to mimic a cracked spine. The eyes are blank and mouth is shut. There are no screams.

Green walls and yellow floors, the kitchen is full with the neighbors. Little twins and parents, the stove is on and bloodstained aprons wrap around bodies. The kids are wearing brown paper bags on their heads, yet it's easy to tell who is who: The boy is by the stove, foot raised with a black hole stuck in the heel. Clark squeezes the foot with latex gloves. Something drips out, runs into the pan, sizzles, sizzles. "Gotta get it out," the wife says, yelling over her son's sobs.

The little girl crawls over the counters, hands slippery with dark, dark liquid. She skids, falls on her stomach, falls from the counter, and there's a crash, a thud, and the parents don't care. The little boy cries and clutches his foot, and Clark fucks his wife with four fingers. She sighs, louder every time. "Oh," she says, "like this. So good. So fucking good, Daddy." She cuts a stripe over her chest with a knife an arm's length away. The ties on her apron detach and expose her breasts and a thick gash of red, red blood spilling. "Right there," she's saying, "right there, right there, fuck me like that, Daddy. Make me Daddy's little cannibal." She touches her chest, circles a nipple, and runs her hand over and across her mouth. "I'm coming, I'm _coming_."

They leave as she's squirting, as she's pissing, as her little boy's foot sticks in the pan, as her little girl still has not moved from the yellow floor.

"What the hell is wrong with them?" Josh asks. Outside, holding Tyler's hand, Josh says, "That was too fucked up for me."

Tyler nods, doesn't say anything, can't say anything. Josh is the one to call for Beethoven, noticing Tyler's sudden change. He's trying to act like nothing is wrong, but they heard what she said. They heard, and Tyler wants to disappear.

No protesting, Tyler sits in the back with Beethoven as his seatbelt. Tyler's pets are absent to Beethoven's chest. Josh glances through the rear-view mirror and grips his steering wheel. No cigarettes light up.

Front door closing, Tyler excuses himself to the bathroom. He lets Beethoven climb on Josh's couch and chow on the remaining treats from his pocket.

"Milk, right?" Josh sets the bag of coral on the kitchen counter. "Do I drop it in a cup of milk?"

"Yes." Tyler's head hurts. The door closing is so loud. Everything is too loud. Tyler looks at himself in the mirror above the sink and doesn't recognize his reflection.

Too pale, too tired, too _together_ , Tyler runs his fingers down his cheeks, nails in, nails sharp. He's crying and wanting to see blood, so much blood. He's crying and opening the cabinet. No such thing as personal space, Tyler rummages through the shelves, eyes and fingers freezing at the products in the corner, sitting on top of a post-it note with a girl's name written sloppily. The label is old. The makeup is barely used. Eyeliner, mascara, foundation, Tyler touches it all and stops once he finds a tube, slender and cool, of red lipstick. Compulsive and anxious, Tyler uncaps it. While it appears a cherry color, it applies dark, like velvet, like blood.

Tyler cries.

His application is shaky. Overlining in some places and underlining in others, Tyler is a mess. He passes his palm across his mouth. The makeup smears. It looks like blood. It looks like blood. Why is he like this?

"God," he whispers, dropping the lipstick and dropping to his knees. "God, please."

Josh is by the door. He knocks and knocks again. "Tyler? Tyler, can I come in?"

Tyler shouldn't be seen like this. "Yes."

Josh opens the door. They stare at each other, Tyler on the tile floor and Josh unwilling to let go of the door knob. "That's a very pretty shade," he says, and plucks the tube from the sink. He places back on the cap. "Used to be my ex's, but… she left and forgot about them."

Tyler watches Josh with wide eyes.

"I sometimes wear the eye shadow. Put it on my lower lids, though. Makes me look tired." A joke, and no laughter. Josh looks sad. "Do you want to wash it off?"

Tyler shakes his head.

"The milk turned red. Well, not all red, but it's red. What does that mean?"

"It's real." Tyler's voice cracks. He smiles. "It's real."

On the living room floor, Tyler pairs off the coral branches in even numbers. He wraps another bracelet on his left wrist. Despite the weight, he feels better. He feels safe.

"What does it mean?" Josh touches the tip of a branch.

"It repels illness. And evil." Tyler blinks. "Take this." He shoves over the branches Josh touched, two sticks with loose thread.

Josh takes it. He studies it. "Where do I put it?"

"By your bed. In here. Anywhere you're vulnerable." Tyler holds Josh's hand. He threads their fingers together. "But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness."

Pausing for a second, Josh finishes, "If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!"

Tyler stares at Josh. Josh turns the coral in his fingers. Eyes down, admiring, Josh smiles, all teeth.

Tyler closes his eyes. "How great is that darkness."

Josh kisses him. Open-mouthed and wet, Josh tastes the lipstick and moans. A low rumble, Beethoven's ears perk from the sofa.

"Want me to take you to bed?" Josh kisses Tyler's cheek, Tyler's nose, Tyler's neck.

"Yes." Tyler is off his feet, held in bridal style, Josh's arms strong, the coral branches digging into Tyler's back.

Oh, just how great is that darkness.

*

An empty vase on Josh's dresser is now home to the coral. Tyler stares at it, keeps it in the center of his mind. Josh is slow, gently fucking into Tyler. Completely opposite of their first time, Tyler is transported to the same place, no matter the speed of Josh's cock between his legs.

Josh leans his head against the pillow by Tyler's ear. He groans into it and shivers at the contact of Tyler's arms around his torso, Tyler's fingers on his back, Tyler's teeth at his shoulder. Hard and leaking onto his stomach, Tyler's body is on autopilot. It shivers at certain tricks and produces whimpers at certain angles, but Tyler isn't aware. He's staring at the coral and digging his teeth into Josh's shoulder. Already red from the faded lipstick, Josh's shoulder is beat up and bruised from Tyler's teeth. Josh is out of it. He's spilling his seed into the condom and finishing Tyler off with his fist, but he doesn't realize the extent of the damage to his shoulder right away. No, that's for when he tries to move, tries to get up from the bed to pitch the used rubber.

"Shit," he curses, and glances at his shoulder. In the dark, even now he doesn't see the damage. "I like your noises," he says. "You didn't have to turn them into something else."

Down his back, going to be felt once he lies down for bed, are eight long scratches, bleeding, too. Tyler's mouth is bleeding, Josh's shoulder. In the bathroom, with the lights on, Josh stares at his shoulder. Tyler is stretched on his back, an arm over his head, fingers weakly curled in a fist. The _S_ curve of his body, the bed sheets draped over his groin, and the lipstick on his mouth are of nightmares and Renaissance paintings. Josh is speechless. Josh runs the faucet and wets a washcloth. Each gingerly placed pat to his shoulder elicits a gasp. It hurts. Tyler's heart thumps heavily in his chest.

"You were eating me," Josh figures out, gazing at the swipe of Tyler's tongue across his teeth. "You… Tyler, I—"

"Come to bed," Tyler says, and rolls onto his stomach.

Josh patches the wound. Tyler thinks about the haunted house and the black hole in the little boy's foot. "Get it out," the wife said, and her husband squeezed and squeezed.

He sticks his thumb in his mouth and sucks.

Josh lies on his back, winces, and turns onto his side. He smells, and looks more at ease than predicted. "I want to meet your parents," he says, and Tyler pops his thumb from his mouth to run over Josh's bottom lip.

"Fine by me."

In his dreams, Tyler is in the basement with Josh. Josh is going gray. Josh's arm is missing. Tyler is eating something, raw and bloody, getting it all over his hands, his chin. "Such a good boy," Josh says in a voice like Tyler's neighbor. "Eat up all of Daddy's mystery meat."

Tyler wakes with a stomachache and Josh stroking the coral bracelets on Tyler's wrist. Josh doesn't pull away. He looks at Tyler, and Tyler looks at him. "This isn't your fault," he says. Tyler cries.

*

It is Sunday morning. Tyler's family is gone. The house looks abandoned. Tyler knows they went to church.

"Do you usually go with them?" Josh and Tyler walk around the house, toward the backyard.

Tyler lets go of Beethoven's leash and watches him sprint next door. His tongue flops from his mouth as he races to see the barn cats. "Not after… my accident."

Their feet carry them to the neighbors' farm. A cow moos when they pass.

"Accident?" Josh holds Tyler's hand. "I thought you were, like, born with—"

"No. Something happened."

"And you don't remember?"

"My therapist tells me I've repressed it, since it was too traumatic." High in the sky, the sun warms their skin. "I don't remember a lot, actually."

"Maybe that's good."

Beethoven reappears, something in his mouth. His paws are caked with mud. He's been in the corn maze.

"No one should have to relive some of the most horrific moments of their life," Josh continues, crouching and holding out his hand for Beethoven. "So, maybe it's good you don't remember."

Beethoven bends his head low and opens his jaws wide. Landing in Josh's palm with a sickening _plop_ , is a small heart.

Tyler covers his mouth. Josh squints. "What is this? A calf's heart?"

They bury it. Tyler buries it. Next to the neighbors' farm, he digs with his hands and turns his fingers a red color from the cold, cold ground. Tyler digs and digs, the heart beating next to him, a metronome, telling him to hurry, hurry, please, _please_. Josh is laughing behind him, playing fetch with Beethoven with something more appropriate. Tyler took the heart, said, "We have to bury it," and Josh understood—to the best of his ability. At least now, Tyler thinks Josh suspects it isn't truly a heart from a small animal.

As a unit, they go into Tyler's house. Quiet, dark, Josh follows Tyler into the bathroom. Tyler runs water over his hands and quells his head by closing his eyes.

"Tyler?"

Tyler blinks away tears. "I need to talk to my therapist."

"Now?"

"Now."

Tyler sits on his bed and calls her. Beethoven chews on a tennis ball. Josh slowly spins in the rolling computer chair by Tyler's desk. On that desk and on each side table by Tyler's bed, are branches of coral in vases. He doesn't comment on them. He shouldn't. He has no right.

"This isn't my fault, right?" Tyler speaks into his phone, cradling it close to his ear. "Whatever happened to me, it wasn't my fault."

"Are you remembering, Tyler?" she asks, sounding not too busy on a Sunday afternoon. Tyler turns her onto speakerphone. "Did you have a dream?"

"Do you know what happened to me?" Tyler picks at the sleeve of his hoodie, big and Josh's. "My mom told you, didn't she?"

"You can lead a horse to water—"

"I got kicked in the head by a horse. I woke up, and my mom told me I was twenty years old. I didn't remember how."

"How old do you remember being, Tyler?"

Josh opens a drawer in Tyler's desk and finds beads of coral, waiting to be threaded onto a necklace or bracelet.

"Seventeen," Tyler says. "A horse kicked me in the head when I was seventeen."

"Why?"

Josh frowns at that. Tyler does, too. "Why do horses do anything?"

Car doors slam shut. Keys jingle. Josh shuts the drawer.

"Please tell me what happened."

"It's best if you remember it on your own, Tyler."

"But wouldn't it be kinder if you tell me now so I'm not forty years old and remembering it then and potentially ruining my future family's life?"

"Tyler, we have an appointment next week. We can talk then. Keep making note of your dreams. It could be helpful."

She hangs up, Josh scowls, and Tyler's mom knocks on Tyler's bedroom door. "Tyler, dear, are you in here? Why is there a strange car parked out front?"

"My friend drove me and—"

She knocks again. "Tyler, dear, come out. Clark and his wife want you to watch their children while they clean out the stables." She leaves. Beethoven stands, expectant, and Tyler hooks on his leash.

"Do you want me to…?" Josh returns to spinning in the computer chair. He stares at Tyler, hands poised on the arms of the chair, ready to get up when needed.

Tyler nods. "Yes."

The neighbors' house smells faintly of rot. Josh guesses it's because they're farmers. Tyler absently agrees. He fears the worst.

Playing with a set of blocks, the little boy sits in front of the lit fireplace and tunes to the TV in the corner every ten minutes. He spells out words only he understands, giggling all the while. Sopping yellow bandages wrap around the kid's foot. It needs changed. Tyler is scared to look underneath.

Josh stacks some of the blocks. He favors his left hand over his right, strange as he's right-handed, but Tyler is reminded Josh has a bandage of his own—thankfully cleaner and well-maintained. Tyler pokes Josh in the side with two fingers and mumbles, "Sorry."

Josh shakes his head. "Like I said, you were influenced."

"I don't think so," Tyler says. "Josh, what if all of this is my fault?"

The little boy places three blocks in a row. _EAT_.

"It isn't."

"You don't know what happened."

"I don't need to know. You're guilty enough as it is. If it was your fault, you obviously regret doing it."

Replacing the blocks, stealing some from Josh's pile, the little boy begins to spell again.

"What do you think happened?" Tyler places his hand on Beethoven's head. Contently sighing, the dog rolls onto his side and silently demands tummy rubs. Tyler gives them to him.

"I don't know," Josh says.

 _FUCK ME_ , the blocks say. The little boy claps.

Tyler kicks them, scatters them. "Where's your sister?"

"'Oom," the boy says, and grabs the blocks.

As soon as Tyler moves into the hallway with the children's shared bedroom, his body tenses, and he smells rot again. Josh is in the living room, with Beethoven, with the boy, and Tyler wants Josh with him. He wants to hold Josh's hand. He wants, he wants, he wants—

The door is cracked. Tyler pushes it open the rest of the way. Illuminated by a single lamp by her bed, the room is cold. Under the covers, the little girl lies stiff and inattentive. Tyler says, "Hi," and she does not move. Tyler says, "Are you okay?", and she does not move. Tyler says, "You're dead, aren't you?", and she does not move.

The room is cold. The room is a morgue. Tyler bends at the waist, lowering himself to the little girl, and stares into her open eyes. Beautiful and brown, they are lifeless and harsh. She has a crack in her head, splitting the scalp in two. The blood has congealed and makes her hair like straw, like hay. Tyler remembers climbing down hay bales with pink teeth and blood under his nails. Tyler remembers telling Zack to get on a horse. He remembers racing through the corn maze.

Tyler remembers Beethoven dropping that heart in Josh's hand. Small and cold, the heart was not a calf's heart.

The little girl lies dead and naked in her own bed. Her chest is messily stitched together. An autopsy has been performed, her organs have been stolen. They are keeping her body in her bed, forcing her brother to sleep in the same room as her, forcing her brother to witness his dead sister not answering his pleas to play.

They are keeping her body in her bed because they are sick, and they want to provide the illusion of stability. They will take her body when they are done, and they will use her skin for leather, her meat for broth, her bones for jewelry, and her hair as floss. They will destroy her and ruin her, and Tyler remembers screaming at Zack, at the top of his lungs, "I'm going to kill you, I'm going to kill you, I'm going to _ruin_ _you_."

Josh is by the door. "Get out of there."

Tyler tries to close her eyes. Her lids protest. She stares at Tyler.

"Tyler."

They leave the neighbors' house. Beethoven trots ahead.

Tyler's mom is in the kitchen, Tyler's dad with her, Zack in the living room, still dressed in his Sunday best. Zack is the only one to say hi to Josh, to ask how he's doing, to actually take interest in what he has to say. As they sit on the sofa, Zack in the chair across from them and Beethoven on the floor, Tyler remembers what happened to Zack's cheek. By the look on Zack's face at Tyler's sudden change in mood, he suspects something, too.

"Tyler?" He gets up, sits back down. He doesn't know what to do with himself.

"I bit off your cheek," Tyler says.

Tyler hides his face with both hands. "Oh, Jesus, Zack, I bit off your cheek."

Zack gets up again, drops to his knees before Tyler and touches his hands, his arms, his shoulders. "Tyler—"

"I ate you, Zack. I bit off your cheek and ate it."

In the distance, a cry; from the kitchen, Tyler's mom suggests going over to the neighbors' for dinner; and to his right, Josh says, "Tyler," and that's it. That's it.

Zack has no consultation. He stands. Tyler does, too. "Do you know what else I remember?"

Zack turns his head.

Tyler says, "I liked it."

Zack leaves the room. Josh says, "Tyler," and Beethoven whines. Tyler closes his eyes.

"That's settled!" Tyler's mom claps her hands, childish and familiar. "We're having dinner next door. Clark said they have something special planned for us."

*

Josh and Tyler sit in the barn, up on the rafters. Their legs sway, their ankles touch, and Beethoven cuddles with a cat with black fur. "Did you know," Tyler says, "that if you shave a Saint Bernard, it can't grow back its hair? You can shave their stomachs, but anywhere else, it wouldn't grow back."

Josh chews on his lip. "I want to help you, Tyler."

"How?"

Josh doesn't say. Dinner is ready, and they help each other down. They march toward the inevitable, Beethoven sniffing out the meat. Before they step inside, Tyler begins to cry, and as they sink down into chairs at the table, Tyler is full-on sobbing. Zack watches from beside Tyler, and on the other side, Josh does, as well. At the head of the table, Clark licks his lips and smiles. Josh only stares at Tyler and, on occasion, Beethoven. He recognizes Clark and his wife from the haunted house—that much is obvious. And it's obvious by the way Clark laughs after the reveal that the meat they are about to consume is not chicken.

They say a prayer before eating. The little boy sits in a high chair and gnaws on gristle. His sister is in her bed, kept under the covers, her eyes open and all-seeing.

Tyler holds Zack's and Josh's hand. Clark and Tyler's dad lead the prayer. Tyler says his own, Beethoven's tail beating into his feet. _But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness_.

Josh squeezes Tyler's hand.

_If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!_

Tyler squeezes Josh's hand three times.

Silverware clinging, glasses picked up and set down, Tyler listens to Josh speak. "We need to leave," he says, to the adults scoffing at the table.

"Leave?" Clark laughs. He butters his roll. "Haven't touched your food yet."

"I'm not hungry."

"Tyler is, though." Clark cocks an eyebrow. "He's always eager for my meat, aren't you, Tyler?"

Everybody else is eating, having mindless conversation. Tyler stabs his fork into his meat and watches blood ooze. He closes his eyes. "I'm not hungry."

"Yes, you are, boy. This shouldn't go to waste."

Josh moves around his green beans.

"One bite," Clark says.

Tyler takes one bite. It hurts. It hurts from how good it tastes, how good it's always tasted.

Tyler throws his fork at his plate and cracks it. Splitting in two, the blood leaks and stains the old white tablecloth. "We need to leave," he repeats Josh's assertion. "I'm going to be sick."

"Haf 'o ea' it!" the little boy sings.

"Sit down, Tyler. You're being rude." Tyler's mom shakes her head.

His dad tuts. "Tyler, you are a guest."

"He needs to leave." Josh stands, chair scuffing the hardwood floor. "We need to leave."

"Tyler doesn't want to leave," Clark says, teeth pink from chewing on the meat in his mouth. "Tyler loves it here. Don't you, Tyler?"

Beethoven barks and nudges Tyler off his feet. He falls, easy and slow, and Beethoven's nose kisses his neck. Tyler is unaware of what's happening. He's lifted, flung, cradled, and Beethoven barks and barks. Tyler is flying. The air is cold to his skin, the wind cutting into his cheeks, horses whinny, and chickens coo, and Tyler thinks he is dead.

Tyler comes to in the back of Josh's car, Beethoven sat in the passenger side with his head out the window. Josh is driving, lighting a new cigarette with the fading butt of another.

"Josh?"

Josh's shoulders relax. Tyler sees the hint of a smile. "I packed as much as I could from your room. It was hard. Your mom bites. Your dad punches. Your siblings… they watch." Josh flicks ashes from the car window. "Don't worry, okay? You're safe now."

 _You're safe now_. Tyler closes his eyes.

On Josh's bed, the TV humming, Beethoven curled on his side, and Josh rubbing his shoulders, Tyler carefully places coral bead after coral bead on a thick string. They don't talk about Tyler's seizure. They don't talk about Josh's shoulder. They don't talk about Zack's cheek. They don't talk about a lot.

But they do take turns reciting Tyler's comfort and prayer.

Tyler is first. "But if thine eye be evil—"

Josh, "Thy whole body shall be full of darkness."

Tyler, "If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness—"

Josh, "How great is that darkness!" And, "But if thine eye be evil—"

Tyler, "Thy whole body shall be full of darkness."

Josh, "If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness—"

Tyler, crying, "How great is that darkness!"

And repeat.

*

Tyler is twenty-one. Tyler is twenty-one when he takes Josh's hands and tells him, "I was fourteen years old, and Zack forced me to eat a human heart."

Josh was on his laptop, earbuds in. At Tyler's arrival, he pulled them out and turned his body. The fan under his laptop chugs along. His attention is on Tyler, undivided and cherished. "Did he know it was a human heart?"

"Yes." Tyler tilts his head. "I heard my mom try to make him lie, make him say he didn't know it was from a human, but he wouldn't go along with it. 'I'll believe you, Zack.'" Tyler leans forward, tipping until his forehead rests on Josh's shoulder. "At fifteen, it happened again. I ate it voluntarily, I made myself throw up on Zack, and then I ate that, too."

Josh rubs his side.

Tyler shivers. "My neighbor fucked me when I was sixteen. I loved it. I wanted it. There was blood and knives, and I ate whatever he gave me during it." Tyler presses his lips together. "Josh, I slept with him and loved every minute of it. Josh, when I was seventeen, I wanted to kill Zack. Josh, when I was seventeen, I ate Zack's cheek and got kicked in the head by a horse, and now I'm like this. I remember little things I didn't know before. I remember my dad giving me blood in sippy cups. I remember my mom letting my siblings and me play with intestines. I remember going over to the neighbors' house to watch them have sex with strangers and kill them afterwards."

"Josh," Tyler says, "I'm scared."

"Josh," Tyler says, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."

"Go to sleep," Josh suggests, kissing Tyler's forehead. "Beethoven can lay on the bed tonight."

Tyler lies on his side with his arms around Beethoven's torso. Behind him, Josh stays on the laptop.

In the morning, like every morning since Tyler moved out, they eat breakfast in bed, void of any meat on Tyler's plate and minimal on Josh's. Tyler gets sick just thinking about it. Josh supports him, was even the one to present the idea of going vegetarian. "At least for a while," he said. Tyler nibbles on celery every day, sitting next to Josh on the bed as he works. He's a writer for a music website, hired to review the latest albums. Tyler listens with him and has fun.

After moving, Tyler lost contact with his family. "Maybe it's for the best," both Josh and Tyler's therapist echoed.

Nightmares wrecked him the first night. He shook for such a long time Josh considered calling an ambulance. Tyler was coherent the whole time, though, whispering that he was okay. "Scared." Josh held him. Tyler stopped shivering.

His dreams were plagued of images he didn't know were real. Tyler can't trust his own mind.

He told his therapist his revelations, and she nodded and scribbled on her notepad. "Do I go to the police?" Tyler asked her. "Would they believe me? What would they do?"

"You're still fragile, Tyler. It'll take some time to recover from this." She touched his arm, and he cried.

"But they're still doing it. Are people going missing? They killed their little girl. Ate her. I need to tell someone." Tyler sniffed. "I buried her heart. What if I dug it up? Showed it to someone?" He wiped his eyes. "No, it's been too long. It's gone."

"You have nothing, Tyler," she said. "They got away with it. You have to live with that."

"Bullshit," Josh said, as he drove them to McDonald's. "Utter bullshit. You don't have _nothing_. You have something. You must have something." Josh passed over the bag of greasy food—a burger for him and two orders of fries for Tyler. "There must be something you can do."

Josh still doesn't know the extent of what happened. He doesn't ask Tyler. He doesn't know how he would ask Tyler.

"So, you lived by a farm, owned by a couple who butchered people for a living?"

"So, you lived by a farm, in a house with parents who also butchered people for a living?"

"So, you lived by a farm, in a house with parents who sheltered their children and forced them to eat—"

"So, you lived by a farm—"

"You lived by a farm."

From his birth until age twenty, Tyler lived by a farm, in a house with his parents and three siblings. They were a happy family, always smiling, always going to church, always on their best behavior. The neighborhood knew them as lovely folks. People waved at Tyler's mom in the grocery store, and people stopped Tyler's dad on the street to talk.

From his birth until age twenty, Tyler lived in a state of morals gone gray. He knew it didn't start when Zack grabbed the human heart from the neighbors' basement, but it started something. Tyler was sixteen and spreading his legs for Clark as his wife cooked upstairs. Tyler ate meat that wasn't chicken and smeared blood over his hands, over his face, over his body, and he felt like he belonged stretched out on that stainless steel table with flies buzzing in his ears. Tyler wonders, when Zack was sixteen, did Clark take Zack down to that basement and show him meat he could taste? Was Zack as good as Tyler? Did Zack dig knives into his skin and bleed on Clark as he rode him on top of that table? Did Zack kiss Clark and bite Clark and fuck himself on Clark's cock long after he came stripes of pearly white across his stomach? Did Zack go to bed each night and cry? Did Zack roll over in bed and stare at Tyler's sleeping form and have the yearning to tell him what happened that day, what happened for weeks, for months? Did Zack tell himself he wanted it? Did Zack tell himself he loved it? Did Zack worry for Tyler? Did Zack put two and two together? Did Zack worry for Jay, that he might be next? Did Zack worry for Maddy? Did Zack cry? Did Zack cry?

From his birth until age twenty, Tyler lived in fear. He knows that now. As a toddler with missing teeth, as a child with too-long legs, as a teenager with bad habits and a harsh bite, as a young adult with too many tears to shed and not enough people to care, Tyler was surrounded by death, by murder, by the loss of control. He remembers cowering in bedroom closets with his siblings as they listened to screaming and laughing, laughing, laughing. Zack tugged on Tyler's shirt and asked, "Why are they laughing?" And Jay crawled, and Maddy pulled him back, and Tyler is in a corn maze with Zack, laughing and laughing, and Zack tells him and tells him, "Stop laughing, stop laughing, _stop laughing_."

From his birth until age twenty, Tyler lived by a farm.

*

Josh and Tyler celebrate their one-year anniversary in bed. No protection, only soft hands and soft lips, Tyler shudders against Josh's chest, held tightly with strong arms. "You did very well, Ty," Josh whispers, kissing Tyler's cheek, his neck. "So good. You're amazing. You're astonishing. You're alive."

The cleanup follows, and Josh falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. Tyler works off a coral bracelet from his wrist and puts it on Josh's. It's okay. Tyler has a lot.

He eases himself from the bed, mattress creaking and Beethoven raising his head. Tyler bends over and taps his nose. "Stay," Tyler whispers, and Beethoven returns his head to his paws. Tyler dresses and grips his phone.

Once he's outside, he presses his phone to his ear and listens to the ringing. He chews on his lip. Pick up, pick up, yes, it's late, but pick up, pick—

"Tyler?" Zack is sleepy. "Tyler, is there something wrong?"

"Come get me. I need your help." Tyler closes his eyes. "I'm going to make everything okay."

"Where are you?" Tyler hears the rustle of fabric. Zack is leaving. He's going to help Tyler make everything okay. "Are you still with Josh?"

"Yes."

"Is Beethoven coming with you?"

"No. He can't."

"Tyler—"

"Hurry." Tyler hangs up and texts Zack Josh's address. He sits on the curb, under a streetlamp, and waits.

*

Zack is tired from helping with the haunted house. "They have me working it this year," he says, hands tense on the steering wheel. "In the kitchen."

Tyler stares at him.

Zack's whole body is made of nothing but tension.

Tyler reaches over and touches his arm, his shoulder, and Tyler rubs. "We're going to make everything okay, Zack."

"How?"

"I need you to go into the house and grab Dad's knives and Mom's aprons and hand towels. We're going to make everything okay."

Zack pulls into the driveway and rushes inside. Tyler gets out of the car and listens to the owls. Zack is here within minutes.

"What else?" he asks.

"Follow me," Tyler says, and Zack does without question.

A year gone, and neither Tyler's family nor the neighbors have learned to lock their back doors.

Past midnight, all lights out, the TV in the living room plays static. Everything is covered in cobwebs, and Tyler pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from sneezing. From behind him, Zack draws out his phone and types a message on his Notes app. He shows it to Tyler. _I haven't seen their son for months now_. Tyler wants to vomit. He doesn't.

He takes Zack's phone and replies underneath the previous message. _have you been to their house in the past few months_

_Yes._

_ate dinner?_

_Yes._ Zack grabs for the phone before Tyler can input his response. _They've started to serve communal dinners at the community center every week. They say it's chicken._ Again. _Mom and Dad are helping them._ And again. _Jay and Maddy know something is up but they don't know what_.

"Do we tell them?" Zack whispers.

There is talking coming from the basement.

Tyler wraps one of their mom's hand towels around the handle of a knife. His fingers curl. He doesn't recognize his voice. "No. Let them figure it out by themselves."

Zack leads the way down, tiptoeing as the stairs threaten to reveal their location. Each step raises their anxiety, and each step raises their confidence. Zack is tall. Zack is proud. Zack is holding a knife of his own and reverting to a role they both took when they were sixteen years old.

"Hey, Clark," Zack says, voice tender and head tilted to the side. The knife is behind his back.

Clark is at the table, elbows deep inside a cadaver. It is of a woman Tyler does not recognize. He keeps to the stairs and watches Zack walk toward Clark, hips cocking, eyes half-lidded and tongue licking his lips.

"Clark," Zack says, "I had a bad dream."

"Clark," Zack says, "I want you to fuck me again."

"Clark," Zack says, "I want you to fuck me while my brother watches."

"Which one?" Clark asks, as if it matters to a heinous man with his arms becoming the connection for the woman and the real world.

"Tyler," Zack says, and Tyler steps forward, cautious, eyes wide and a pout on his face. "Tyler," Zack says, "I want him to watch."

Half of the woman's organs are pulled out when Clark removes his arms. Tyler sees a liver and a pancreas, a bladder and a gall bladder, two kidneys, and a blackened lung full of developing cancer. Tyler sees her insides, and he wants them inside him. He can't shake the feeling. He doesn't want to shake the feeling.

Clark is pink. "What's this I hear, Tyler?"

"You can fuck me after you're done with Zack." Tyler is cold. "I want you so bad, Clark. Almost forgot how good you made me feel."

Clark is pink. "Came home to Daddy, then, haven't you?"

Tyler nods. "Yes—oh, God, yes."

Clark is red. "Tyler…"

Clark is on his knees. "Zack…"

Clark is bleeding from a stab wound in his neck. He tries to hold it closed, but it doesn't work. Blood pours, blood gushes, blood stains the already brown concrete underneath their feet. Zack stands over Clark, his hand shaking, his body shaking, he's shaking so damn bad. The knife clatters to the floor, and Zack is on his knees now, hands to his face, sobbing, crying, Zack is crying. Does Zack cry? Zack cries and cries.

"Zack," Tyler says, crouching to return the knife back to his little brother. "You have to finish it."

"I can't." Zack has snot on his upper lip, tears streaming down his cheeks, his good cheek, his ugly cheek. Tyler cups Zack's cheek, the ugly cheek, and strokes the scar.

"I can." Tyler leans in to whisper. "Do you trust me to fix this? Do you trust that I will make everything okay?"

Zack closes his eyes.

Clark raises a weak arm toward the ceiling. He sees something, is reaching for something.

Zack wipes his eyes. "Please."

Tyler presses a kiss to the scar on Zack's cheek. The next moment, he's holding the knife in a tight fist and swinging, digging the sharp blade into the thin flesh on Clark's wrist. It gets stuck. Clark makes no sounds. Tyler rips it out and swings again and again and again, and Clark makes no sounds, and Zack doesn't open his eyes.

Clark's hand lands on the concrete. Tyler climbs on his body, and with two hands, Tyler drives the knife into Clark's chest, twisting on the pull out, twisting on the push in, Tyler is twisting, gutting. He hopes he missed the heart.

Clark is red. His eyes are open. His mouth is drooling crimson. The wound on his neck fans out like a smile.

Tyler smiles. "Zack, find me some gloves and a bin. Better tools."

Zack does. He looks as if he might throw up. He doesn't.

Tyler pushes up his sleeves, ties on one of his mom's aprons, and wraps a new towel around a larger knife, a carving knife, a knife Tyler remembers holding to cut into his skin while Clark fucked him and fucked him and fucked him until he forgot to be disgusted.

"You can look away, if you want," Tyler says, as he cuts away Clark's clothes.

"I won't blame you," Tyler says, as he peels the skin from Clark's muscles.

"If you do look, remember this moment," Tyler says, as he drops chunk of meat after chunk of meat into the bin.

"Remember this moment and know this is not your fault," Tyler says, as he perches on Clark's open chest and brings Clark's warm heart to his mouth.

*

Zack says he's going to wash the knives and the towels and aprons. He's going to put them in their rightful places and go back to sleep. He's going to shut his eyes and have peaceful dreams.

"What are you going to do with… with his…?"

"Lemme worry about that." Tyler kisses Zack's cheek again. "Everything will be okay. If the police ask if you heard anything, tell them you heard mom and dad talking downstairs. Tell Jay and Maddy to say the same. Everything will be okay."

"Everything will be okay." Zack nods. "Tyler, I killed someone."

Tyler is not himself. He is himself. He is, he is, he is—

"Oh, Zack, this was bound to happen."

Tyler gives Zack a coral bracelet. "Everything will be okay."

Zack drops Tyler off at Josh's apartment and believes him.

*

Tyler buries Clark's skin in a field of flowers three streets from their apartment. Almost not wanting to, almost wanting to keep it and cherish it and hang it on a wall, Tyler tells himself this is for the best. The skin is soft and a reminder. Tyler presses his palms together and whispers, "If thine eye be evil…"

*

Josh wakes to Tyler cooking. "What's all this for?" He rubs his knuckles into his eyes and yawns.

Tyler laughs. "You deserve a good meal. Planned to do this yesterday, but we spent it in bed."

Josh blushes.

Tyler calls for Beethoven and gives him a bone. "Such a good boy."

"What is it?" Josh stands behind Tyler and rolls his forehead around the backs of Tyler's shoulders. "Smells like chicken."

"It is chicken." Tyler smiles. "You have a good nose."

"Is this all for me?"

"No," Tyler says. "I'll eat some. Can't pass this up. It looks delectable."

*

Zack tells Tyler the police haven't shown up. Zack tells Tyler the neighbors' house has been quiet. Zack tells Tyler he's scared.

Tyler says, "Don't be."

Tyler says, "Your big brother's going to make everything okay."

Tyler walks to his neighbors' house. It's past midnight, and he can still taste Josh's semen in his mouth. It's a good feeling to be loved.

The neighbors' house smells like death—an odor Tyler has only ever associated with his childhood. His parents tried to clean, but blood stains and blood stains.

A peek in the basement, and the murder scene has not been disturbed. The wife is down here, though, arms in that cadaver like her husband the night before. She does not jump when she sees Tyler. She doesn't even look surprised. "Oh, it's you, boy," she says, and nods her head. "Come here, then, and help."

She's lost her mind. A lot can happen in a year.

"Find a knife." Tyler stops on the other side of the table, refusing to look at the autopsy beneath his nose. "Find a knife and peel off your own skin."

Tyler watches. Starting from her scalp, she only gets down to her chest before she bleeds to death. Tyler rips off a piece of her cheek and leaves the house.

He buries it next to her husband's full coat. Only then does he allow himself to vomit on top of the makeshift graves. Markers, headstones, Tyler's fingers are claws as he massages his stomach. "Please, please, please," he whispers.

"But if thine eye is evil," he whispers, "thy whole body shall be full of darkness."

*

Josh wakes to Tyler in the living room with Beethoven beside him. He's threading beads of coral onto a string. He does this every morning for the rest of the week, for the rest of the month.

Zack tells Tyler the police have shown up now. Zack tells Tyler they thought the wife killed and ate her husband before killing herself, but they didn't find any traces of her husband in her stomach. Zack tells Tyler he told the police he heard his parents talking one night, laughing down in the kitchen. Zack tells Tyler Maddy and Jay said they heard the same. Zack tells Tyler he didn't force Jay or Maddy to say that. Zack tells Tyler they remember, they know, and they want Tyler to know everything is okay.

Pushing each bead onto the string produces more tears in Tyler's eyes. He shakes and sobs, and Josh rubs his shoulders and tells him everything is going to be okay.

At his next appointment with his therapist, Tyler says his parents are in prison. His therapist says that's fortunate, and Tyler doesn't cry when she touches his arm.

Zack tells Tyler the haunted house is in new hands now. It's cheesy horror—no gore, no screaming, and no fucking in the kitchen.

Zack tells Tyler no one wants to buy the neighbors' house, so they asked the city if they could burn it. "It's ash," Zack says, "and you won't believe the bones hidden underneath it."

"We're taking care of the farm," Jay says.

"And the animals," Maddy adds.

"You should visit," they offer.

Beethoven runs for miles. Josh wears overalls and rides a horse with Maddy following him. White plastic bag in his hands, Tyler fishes out bracelets, necklaces, and simple branches of coral and passes them to Zack. "Please." Tyler thinks he might cry. "Everything will be okay."

Zack hugs him. His cheek doesn't look ugly anymore. "Everything is already okay, Tyler."

*

Tyler is twenty-two years old when he sits next to Josh on the sofa, takes his hands, and says, "You have the softest skin, Josh. Do you know that?"


End file.
